


mal du pays

by luminiferocity



Series: ineffable, adjective (word of the day GO prompts) [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Ficlet, Gen, Happy Ending, Homesickness, Light Angst, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29608056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminiferocity/pseuds/luminiferocity
Summary: "Do you miss it?""Nah, too humid this time of year." Crawly gestures vaguely downwards. "Something to do with the ventilation.""No, not there-"-They've met a handful of times since Eden, always baited and bickered, but tonight is different. They've been drinking. There's been a lot to drink about.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: ineffable, adjective (word of the day GO prompts) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993312
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	mal du pays

"Do you miss it?"

"Nah, too humid this time of year." Crawly gestures vaguely downwards. "Something to do with the ventilation."

"No, not _there_ -" 

Crawly shoots him a sideways look, eyebrows raised, and Aziraphale snaps his mouth shut. 

"Oh. I'm sorry, I suppose that was rather rude of me."

They've met a handful of times since Eden, always baited and bickered, but tonight is different. They've been drinking. There's been a lot to drink about. 

The settlement in the valley below them is aflame, so they sit side by side and pass a skin of ale back and forth and watch lives turn to ash. This wasn't their doing, not really, but they'd both been in the marketplace that very morning following their orders, and technically being blameless doesn't feel like being blameless at all. 

Something integral gives, and the fire spits and surges as fresh oxygen-rich air catches. 

Aziraphale lets out a sad little moan. He has a dangerous look on his face, one Crawly recognises as _questioning_.

"I don't miss it, not really," Crawly begins suddenly, surprising himself. But it catches Aziraphale's attention, so he presses on. "I don't remember enough of it to miss it. ‘S’mostly just impressions."

"Impressions?" Aziraphale prompts with polite interest, but his expression is complex as he takes a drag and passes the skin over.

"It's like... seeing something out of the corner of your eye, you know? But when you try to look properly, it disappears." He shrugs. "I guess mostly it's the feeling I miss, like… being home."

Beside him, Aziraphale becomes unnaturally still. Crawly scrutinises him, trying to understand if the angel's curiosity is simply academic or the start of some redemption bent.

"I don't want your pity." 

"No," Aziraphale says quickly. "No, not at all. I'm just- interested."

The last is whispered as if an admission. Which it is, really. There's no place in any realm, mortal or otherwise, where the extent of his regard for the demon is acceptable. His expression is apologetic, embarrassed, but most of all, wretched. 

Crawly understands. 

"What about you? If you're _here_ then you're not _there_."

He'd pitched the question light, a signpost to safer ground, but for a split second Aziraphale looks anguished and he realises he's misstepped.

"Of course, heaven is lovely – the loveliest – and I do miss certain- ah- aspects." He winces at his own performance and looks away. Softly, he adds, "I've found I've been enjoying my time here."

A demon longing for the impossible embrace of heaven, and an angel who feels it like cold iron bands ratcheted tight.

They both think as much. They both remain silent.

\+ 

Aziraphale glances between the For Sale sign, the picture-perfect cottage and Crowley in turn. 

"Crowley?"

"Come on in, you'll love it," Crowley replies, sly grin in place, and herds Aziraphale inside.

The rooms are bare, but set aglow by the late afternoon light slanting in through the windows. They stand side by side in one of the reception rooms, surveying the view over the back garden, a verdant expanse that sweeps down at the far end as it succumbs to the topography of the valley.

"It hardly has the buzz of the city," Aziraphale says carefully. "Won't you miss it?"

"Maybe. But that's okay. It just-" He scrunches his nose up, self-conscious. "-feels right."

Aziraphale considers these words seriously. 

"Yes. It feels like home."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: mal du pays, dictionary.com WOTD 27.10.20


End file.
